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American anapestic artist ballads bard Bayard Taylor beauty blank-verse Bryant charm criticism didacticism Divine Comedy dramatic early Edgar Allan Poe effort Emerson England English essays expression feeling Forceythe Willson genius gift Golden Legend hand heart hexameter Holmes humor ideal idyl imagination instinct intellectual kind labor land Leaves of Grass less letters literary literature Longfellow Lowell Lowell's Margaret Fuller master measure melody ment method metrical modern mood muse native nature never original passion pieces Poe's poems poet's poetic poetry prose Puritan Quaker reader rhymed rience romance scarcely seemed sense sentiment song soul spirit stanzas style sure sweet taste Taylor Tennyson Thanatopsis theme Theocritus things thou thought tion torian Poets touch traits translation true truth ture Ulalume verse voice Walt Whitman Whitman Whittier writers written youth
Page 388 - THERE was a child went forth every day, And the first object he look'd upon, that object he became, And that object became part of him for the day or a certain part of the day, Or for many years or stretching cycles of years.
Page 162 - The hand that rounded Peter's dome And groined the aisles of Christian Rome Wrought in a sad sincerity; Himself from God he could not free; He builded better than he knew; The conscious stone to beauty grew.
Page 243 - But lo, a stir is in the air! The wave — there is a movement there! As if the towers had thrust aside, In slightly sinking, the dull tide — As if their tops had feebly given A void within the filmy Heaven. The waves have now a redder glow — The hours are breathing faint and low — And when, amid no earthly moans, Down, down that town shall settle hence, Hell, rising from a thousand thrones, Shall do it reverence.
Page 167 - Daughters of Time, the hypocritic Days, Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes, And marching single in an endless file. Bring diadems and fagots in their hands. To each they offer gifts after his will. Bread, kingdoms, stars, and sky that holds them all.
Page 118 - A hard, dull bitterness of cold, That checked, mid-vein, the circling race Of life-blood in the sharpened face, The coming of the snow-storm told. The wind blew east ; we heard the roar Of Ocean on his wintry shore, And felt the strong pulse throbbing there Beat with low rhythm our inland air.
Page 247 - Banners yellow, glorious, golden, On its roof did float and flow (This — all this — was in the olden Time long ago) And every gentle air that dallied, In that sweet day, Along the ramparts plumed and pallid, A winged odor went away.
Page 167 - DAUGHTERS of Time, the hypocritic Days, Muffled and dumb like barefoot dervishes, And marching single in an endless file, Bring diadems and fagots in their hands. To each they offer gifts after his will, Bread, kingdoms, stars, and sky that holds them all. I, in my pleached garden, watched the pomp, Forgot my morning wishes, hastily Took a few herbs and apples, and the Day Turned and departed silent. I, too late, Under her solemn fillet saw the scorn.
Page 186 - Look not mournfully into the Past. It comes not back again. Wisely improve the Present. It is thine. Go forth to meet the shadowy Future, without fear, and with a manly heart.
Page 152 - For Nature beats in perfect tune, And rounds with rhyme her every rune, Whether she work in land or sea, Or hide underground her alchemy. Thou canst not wave thy staff in air, Or dip thy paddle in the lake, But it carves the bow of beauty there, And the ripples in rhymes the oar forsake.